I’ve had profiles on chat sites before. I've hooked up with men I've met on bulletin boards and AOL (a decade ago); I've made friends from gay.com that I've fucked around with.
These new sites designed for hookups, though—those I haven’t taken too seriously. For a long time, however, my friend Chris has been trying to get me to join a particular online sex site he frequents. At his house one evening last year, I watched as he logged on and checked out who else was prowling the cyber-alleys. Within a few minutes of talking and looking at other people’s profiles, his email collection chime sounded. In his box were three messages from people who’d seen his profile, looked at his photos, and wanted hot monkey sex, right then and right there. They wanted it now, dammit!
That was fine for him, I thought at the time. But I had my sexual trickle-down list fairly clear:
- Friends of mine with whom I enjoyed both physical and emotional intimacy. Which is a polite synonym for other lovers.
- Acquaintances of mine whom I occasionally see when both of us felt the urge. Which is a polite way of saying fuckbuddies.
- Last and least, perfect strangers.
It’s a system that’s worked fairly well for me—an inverted food pyramid, in which proportionately higher helpings of the first two, coupled with moderate intake of the last, would keep me happy and would burn off a little of what often seems like my sometimes unmanageable supply of sexual energy.
In the year that’s passed since that evening with Chris, I started having crank out finished product for my deadlines. For two or three months at a time I’d be more or less totally celibate (and whiny about it), then between works I’d hanker to embark on a course of slutterific carnage, leaving cum-soaked clothing and satisfied, broken men in my wake. Sometimes I’d find someone to help out. A lot of the time, though . . . not so much.
Another problem is that lately several of my regular friends have either taken boyfriends or moved out of town. My time in the evenings is pretty limited; I don’t intend to troll chat rooms or hang out in bars looking for casual sex partners. I was talking over the problem with another friend last month. It would make more sense, I said, for me to make time even during deadlines to burn off accumulated sexual energy.
He agreed, since a laid Rob is an easier-to-get-along-with Rob. “You should register with this web site,” he said, tilting his laptop around. “I checked it out a few days ago and it’s really easy to use.”
Of course it was the exact same place Chris had showed me a year ago.
So three weeks ago I whipped up a profile and composed a little essay about how anyone with hang-ups about race or age or body types and size could just keep on looking, because I wasn’t going to be interesting to them. I tossed on a couple of x-rated photos of myself and threw in a g-rated photo as well, mostly in self-defense. Guys who are looking for a particular type of man, whether it be a jock or a bear or a muscle stud or a daddy or a twink, have a tendency to get excited when they see the cock shots of me and then to deflate at the latter when they see I’m not extraordinarily handsome and that I don't fall into any particular classification of gay subculture.
I began to get responses within the hour. By the following day, they were pouring in, and although the initial flood has stemmed slightly, they really haven’t yet stopped.
In that time I haven’t really initiated any communications. I’ve been letting them come to me, and I've been responding to the ones I receive. And I’ve noticed a few things about guys who spend a lot of time looking for online hookups.
1) There are more guys brimming with reasons not to meet, than who actually want to get together and screw. For some the urge is there, but out of fear or intimidation or whatever reason, they lack the follow-through—they’re simply content looking at photos of other men, sending them emails, and then disappearing to whack off thinking of what might have been. Others have posted the equivalent of You must be this high to board this ride signs in their profiles, or whip them out when they begin corresponding. You have to pass the number of inches test, followed by the weight test, followed by the good-looking test, followed by the hairstyle test, followed by the musculature test. . . . But you know, I gave up tests when I quit grad school. When a guy emails me (and this is an actual solicitation I received), I like your profile a lot and you’re right, too many guys are hung up on superficial shit. btw what is your waist size?, I have absolutely no qualms about writing him back and telling him that no hard feelings, but I can already tell it’s not going to work.
2) Cock size trumps tact, judging by the sheer number of men who have written me message like the following: WOWOWOW! U r not my usual type but I’ll make an exception because you have an AWESOME cock one of the biggest I’ve seen on here! Looking for now? (The only real response to that, by the way, is, “Gee, but no thanks.”
3) When pretty boys who have spent more time acquiring tans than I have spent on groceries this month, or when pretty men my age who have invested a house down-payment’s worth of money into looking like the pretty tan boys twenty-five years younger than themselves, write in their profile “Above all, I am looking for someone with a great personality!”, it is ungracious to suspect them of fibbing. They absolutely are being truthful and sincere. That is, if you understand that by personality they mean pecs.
4) As in the bars, there’s a period on these things in which one is ‘new meat,’ and thus more desirable than the rancid old stuff everyone’s seen before.
I was talking about the last point with Chris this week, when I saw him on one of my instant messengers and told him that I’d finally given in to my sleazier impulses (big surprise) and joined his service. “Yeah,” he said. “I noticed. Hope you're having fun. When I joined up, I remember getting fifty responses in the first month. You’re probably getting a lot more in general because you’re listing yourself as a top, right?”
I thought for a minute. “How many did you say you got your first month? Fifty? The site was probably less popular then, right?”
“Yes, fifty,” he wrote back. Then he named a mutual friend of ours. “He joined two months ago and since then he’s gotten a hundred emails. Why, how many have you gotten?”
“Enough that I had to create a separate email box for them,” I said. “Hold on.”
I counted the number of letters in the box and blanched. Then I took a couple of minutes to compress the emails by header, so that only the individual senders appeared. “I’ve gotten 1,424 emails. . . .” I told him.
“Holy fuck!” he tapped back. “But that’s like, multiple emails from a lot of guys, right? And in how many weeks?”
“. . . . in two and a half weeks, from 653 different men,” I finished.
I could practically hear the thud of wood when he fainted to the floor. Which brings me to:
5) Apparently tops are in great demand.